


Seeking... Something

by AnotherAnon0



Series: Seeking... Something [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, I ACCIDENTIALLY DELETED THIS ENTIRE WORK SO THIS IS A REPOST LMFAO, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Nicholai and Murphy have been seeing each other.~"I wrote about you in my journal." He said flatly, eyes fixating themselves back on the numbers of the clock. Every changing minute seemed offensive."In your diary?" The venomous words dripped over his back, caressing his shoulders before spilling into his ears, "What did you say about me in your diary?"
Relationships: Nikolai Zinoviev/Murphy Seeker
Series: Seeking... Something [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746628
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	Seeking... Something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FanFicReader01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFicReader01/gifts).



"What does this say?"

Murphy shuffled his arm to free it from the prison of the heavy sheets, bringing his hand over to the exposed chest of the man lying beside him and prodding an interrogative finger at the dark ink rippling along the firm muscle.

A clenched fist holding a lit torch, raised above a bed of wheat and flowers. The sickle and hammer was an obvious homage, Murphy figured, but the curt Cyrillic text had been a mystery to him for months. 

The older man snorted a chuckle, eyes closed lightly, lids unmoving. " _Mir. Trud. Mai_."

"Which means...?" Murphy stretched his voice in youthful annoyance, cocking his brows as though the follow-up translation from Russian should have been an obvious offer. He knew he wasn't going to get it the moment a devious smirk tightened Nicholai's pale lips, a flash of white just barely visible between them.

"You know the rules."

_One question per night._

"Oh for fucks--" He plunked down, sprawling his body across his side of the narrow bed in a huff, "I asked what it said!" 

"Not what it _meant_."

"Oh thank you so much, _English Professor_ Zinoviev." Murphy spat sarcastically, desperate to try and get a dig in at the older man, "First English teacher I've had that don't speak Englis--"

" _Doesn't_." Nicholai clicked his tongue, eyelids quivering slightly as he clearly attempted to suppress a laugh, but remaining firmly closed in nonchalant neglect.

Murphy gasped in frustration, quickly turning beneath the covers to face away from the other man and bury his head in his pillow.

The change in position had been a mistake. The red glare of the bedside clock was now clearly visible, harassing him with knowledge of the impending hour. 

Nicholai would be leaving soon.

He always left at the same time -- 4:00 a.m. It was early enough for him to slip away unnoticed by a soul and return to the Officer's quarters of the facility, quite a long trek from the common dorms. It was a better arrangement than what had been in place before Murphy had convinced the older man to begin coming to his dorm -- rutting away in the dingy basement boiler room where they'd first met that night after the Christmas party; tension spilling out in an alcohol-laced haze into a Russophobic remark, a shove, a punch, and a brutal, tongue-filled kiss. Murphy had internally resolved his reasons for hauling Nicholai to his room were selfish -- knowing he'd be able to keep him for a bit longer. A bit became an hour. An hour became a few. And he was forced to quickly admit to himself that he was seeking something that was impossible.

_"Stay the whole night. Please?"_

To not be left alone with his thoughts.

_"Is that what you want to use your question on? You already know the answer."_

After Nicholai's nightly departures, Murphy usually waited until sunrise by sitting at the uncomfortable chair at the tiny desk that had been furnished in the room when he moved in. He didn't like to be alone. The windowless dorm was small, cold, and dark even when he turned all the lights on, which he usually did the moment the older man closed the door behind him. 

_The door._

His eyes grazed it for a moment. What an evil thing it was. Already, he felt as though it were moving closer and making silent demands. Nicholai never turned to look at him when he left. He just left. The door was like a portal to another world, one where he didn't know who Murphy was and didn't care. The fleeting looks the younger man would cast at him throughout the day were met with cynical confusion, if not outright disgust. 

Murphy knew this wasn't real.

But the happiness and relief he felt when the midnight knock rasped against that evil door was.

"I wrote about you in my journal." He said flatly, eyes fixating themselves back on the numbers of the clock. Every changing minute seemed offensive. 

"In your diary?" The venomous words dripped over his back, caressing his shoulders before spilling into his ears, "What did you say about me in your diary?"

"It is a _**journal**_." Murphy shot a glare over his shoulder. "Cap' likes that I keep a journal."

" _Mikhail Victor_ would like it if you all played with barbie dolls and flowers." Nicholai purred in contempt, finally opening his eyes. The blue was piercing, even in the dim light of the bunker room, "Now, what did you write?"

"I called you a lunatic." Murphy smiled, biting his bottom lip playfully as he turned back to rest his head on the pillow, "'cause I was upset."

"Over training today?" The older man scoffed, "So sensitive."

Murphy rolled his eyes, turning his body to face the older man again, the sheets twisting themselves in a knotted mess across his slender frame, "You used me as a human shield!" He said, clearly exasperated that the words even needed to be uttered, "Didn't they teach you Reds about friendly fire or nothin'?"

Nicholai breathed deeply through his nose, lips pursed in sardonic amusement. Slowly, the older man adjusted himself, turning his body to face Murphy's. They were a bit closer together now, and Murphy couldn't help but swallow when he felt Nicholai's warm breath against his nose and cheek. He watched a calloused hand drop towards his head, and momentarily relished the sensation of fingers dancing through the messy hair above his ear that quickly followed. His eyes fluttered shut as the fingers combed across his temple softly.

"One question only." 

The attempt at a snarky reply caught in his throat when he felt Nicholai's body drape over his. A tepid smile began to pull at his lips.

Heavy. Warm. Comforting. 

The smile quickly dissolved when a familiar click struck him with the realisation that the older man had simply been turning off the alarm of the clock just before the hour hit.

Fake.

The weight, warmth, and comfort was gone as quickly as it had come, Nicholai moving to rise out of the bed prompting a slow groan from the mattress. Murphy kept his eyes closed as he listened to the sounds of feet padding against the floor, and fabric rustling. He tried to recall the sensation of fingers in his hair. Despite it having been just moments ago, he couldn't. 

He didn't enjoy watching Nicholai get dressed. The Russian had a stunning body, but watching it wiggle into clothes was scenic reminder of impending loneliness. Even the sound of his zipper zipping and his belt clinking was abusively loud. He wanted to drown it out.

"You're going to come back tonight, right?" His eyes opened after an answer didn't readily come, "Oh yeah. _One question only_." He put on a poorly-constructed Russian accent, mocking Nicholai's stringent adherence to the rule he’d strictly set when they’d first began, one which had come without much of an explanation. He’d figured the older man had been trying to keep some semblance of professional distance, but never had thought the rule would endure so strictly. Through all the smut, the sweat, and the tears — Nicholai remained a firmly closed book. It only made him bitter when he thought about how much personal torment he’d revealed to no reciprocation.

Murphy considered it a small victory when the other man laughed at his bad accent. Finally, a laugh that wasn't brimming with venom, sarcasm, or cruelty. It was a tiny, breathy laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. It had been a long time since Murphy had heard someone - anyone - laugh. He thought it was beautiful.

His eyes combed over Nicholai's muscular back, a sheepish flush overtaking the peachy skin of his freckled nose when he noticed the angry map of scratches he'd left there over the course of the night. One ragged line looked like even had the faintest smear of dried blood rubbed across it. The scene was unceremoniously blanketed by a dark grey t-shirt after Nicholai had finally turned the mangled fabric inside-out.

Nicholai never turned to look at him when he left. 

He never said a word.

He just _left_.

The door clicked maniacally as it latched closed behind him. 

Murphy reached to turn on the bedside light, staring at the harsh glow without a wince as he silently pondered what question he'd ask Nicholai the next time he saw him.

**Author's Note:**

> WOW I REALLY AM A MORON.
> 
> I was gearing up to *ahem* add a chapter >_> and wanted to convert it into a series instead, and wound up DELETING THE ENTIRE THING. So here is the repost. THANKFULLY I had this copy and pasted somewhere else lmfao 
> 
> ANYWAY, a quick recap of the notes that were here:
> 
> This was a gift for Fanficreader01 for the incredible support and love HE has given me <3
> 
> Nicholai's tattoo means "Мир, труд , май / Mir. Trud. Mai / Peace. Labour. May." It was a common tattoo for soldiers (and criminals) in the USSR, and references the Russian revolution. Here is what that would have looked like:
> 
> And yes! Next one-shot incoming where I go over the Murphy/Nicholai scene at the Christmas party mentioned here. Hon hon hon.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
